


hit me where it hurts

by greatcatsbys



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Bottom Rufus, Breathplay, M/M, Painplay, Top Tseng, fellas is it gay to watch your bodyguard kill someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatcatsbys/pseuds/greatcatsbys
Summary: For once in his life, Tseng’s desire outweighs his duty.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 25
Kudos: 153





	hit me where it hurts

**Author's Note:**

> i hope i've tagged everything but just in case:  
> content warnings for consensual breathplay, consensual painplay, and generally just getting off on murder

‘This is the stupidest fuckin' plan I ever heard.’

‘Well, I concur,’ Tseng says, lowering his eyes. Reno smirks at his poise. ‘But the Vice President will not be swayed.’

‘This is treason with extra treason on top.’

‘That's never bothered you before, Reno,’ Tseng says, 'and if now’s the time for you to pledge fealty to President Shinra, you've picked an awful one.’

‘Yeah, yeah I know, shit or get off the pot,’ Reno says. ‘Relax, boss. We're _his_ Turks.’

The two of them speak in murmurs, following the President’s son through the bustling noise of Wall Market at a safe distance – although Tseng would hardly call _any_ distance safe. 

Rufus Shinra has been in Midgar for all of three days before he’s restless, needs to be amongst the dirt and the grime of the city he will one day call his. Which he will of course, if missions like this go to plan, if they are handled with a secrecy that sets even Tseng’s practiced nerves on edge.

Rufus has what he euphemistically calls _corporate interests_ at hand, which means he is planning subterfuge, funnelling private funds into the accounts of forces that will take down the President. Usually, the work is done remotely, has been silently continuing during his exile in Junon, but consultation in person is sometimes necessary when the organisation in question threatens to blackmail its financial backer. Consultation, with the threat of firepower. It's why Tseng chose Reno to accompany them; he loves this sort of thing. Any excuse to put on a show.

The meeting is unbelievably risky. _It’s arrogant of him,_ Tseng thinks, but then Rufus has never been one to worry about his personal safety. He's never needed to. Tseng's hypervigilance is an all-encompassing buffer, between Rufus and the world of his father. Tseng chooses to take it as trust, as a compliment.

_Rufus and his father_ , Tseng sighs. Those lines have been drawn. If they hadn’t, he wouldn’t find himself here.

Loyalty and discretion to Shinra as always. Tseng doesn’t specify which.

They tail Rufus at a distance of a few feet, keep trained eyes on the brim of his hat that shields his face from view. Tseng wordlessly examines every silhouette he can see, checks for glints of weapons catching Wall Market’s neon lights. They’re close to their destination now, filtering smoothly through the crowd like water, and Reno adjusts his dark glasses in discomfort. Blending in is never something he’s been particularly good at.

‘Don’t ease up,’ Tseng warns, senses danger before he sees it. He’s developed a sixth sense for these things. ‘We’re close. Eyes to the alleys, I’m on the Vice President.’

Tseng slips closer to him through the crowd, brushes his fingertips against the sleeve of Rufus’ coat, a silent signal to stay at arm’s length. Rufus carries on walking, head lowered, obscuring himself from view.

_There,_ on the balcony to the right; three men, all masked. Tseng walks faster, reaches for his PHS with one hand and his firearm with the other. He buzzes for Reno, hisses _quickly_ – but before he can pre-empt their move, a shot fires.

‘Dumb fucks,’ Reno snarls as he sprints to Tseng, who hardly hears him above the shrieking from the rapidly dispersing crowd. 

_If they’re sloppy enough to fire in a crowd, they’re not Shinra_ , Tseng thinks in relief, before his body matches his instincts. _Dumb fucks indeed._

The three men propel themselves over the balcony, landing with a thud. Reno has a clean shot. Tseng sprints to Rufus, seizes him by the forearm. There's blood on Rufus' white coat, and Tseng's eyes darken.

‘Sir, behind me!’

Tseng moves impossibly fast, with a terrifying grace. One shot, two shots; the first assailant is down, blood haemorrhaging from his knees. Three shots, the second is down, Reno’s shot aimed clean through the forehead. The third bears a knife, gunning for Rufus; Tseng throws his body between them, pushes Rufus away while grabbing the man in a chokehold. Tseng pulls him to the floor, grunting, stamps above the man’s wrist to disarm him. The man shrieks, and Rufus swears he can hear the crunching of bone. 

Rufus is hardly naïve to what his Turks are paid for, but it is rare that he sees such violence up-close. He watches with a morbid fascination as Tseng keeps pushing his arms tighter, as the man slowly, slowly loses air supply. Mostly, Rufus watches Tseng’s placid expression as he kills a man, and how it barely falters; the heavy rise and fall of his chest the only sign of any struggle. Tseng heaves the body upward into an empty alley, and Rufus stares, mouth open dumbly. 

He’s never noticed Tseng is beautiful before. 

Thankfully, Tseng takes it as shock.

‘Are you okay, sir?’ Tseng says, at his side in an instant. ‘The bullet grazed you.’

Before Rufus can protest, Tseng’s hands are on his stomach, searching beneath fabric for bullet holes. Rufus moans lightly, bites his lip immediately. It’s not pain that makes that noise.

‘There,’ Tseng says, places healing materia gently against the wound. Rufus looks down, and immediately feels sick. Before, the adrenaline had him feeling invulnerable, but now he is bleeding, the pain fierce in his abdomen.

‘It’s deeper than it looks,’ Tseng says, looks at the wound analytically. ‘We should get you to a doctor.’

‘Here?’ hisses Reno. ‘He’s a sitting fuckin’ chocobo here! You _want_ Shinra to find him?'

‘It’s _fine_ ,’ Tseng snaps. ‘I have friends here. They will be discreet.’

‘ _You_ have _friends_ in Wall Market?’ Rufus crows, looking at Tseng with a new-found admiration. ‘Perhaps I underestimated you.’

‘It’s the safest place to be Wutaian,’ Tseng says sharply, braces the wound with his tie. ‘Midgar has more refugees than it has jobs.’

Behind him, Reno winces.

Rufus looks at Tseng, and notices the tension in his jaw, his shoulders. It’s hard to think of Tseng as his age. He feels an urge to apologise, for his comment, for all of this; but then, he remembers, he is Rufus Shinra, and has never apologised for anything.

‘We have to go,’ Tseng says stiffly. 'Reno, you know this place like home, you’re on clean-up.’

The moment’s gone. Rufus sighs, huffs air through his teeth.

They spend the remainder of the night in Wall Market, which would usually be a pleasurable affair for Rufus. Instead, it's spent heaving blood on the upper floor of a makeshift surgery, in a creaking single bed that smells of sweat and mako. Hardly the experience he's accustomed to.

Despite the cocktail of painkillers he's on and the dizziness that comes with overusing materia, Rufus can't sleep. His mind wanders, wonders if the attack is an Avalanche outlet or opportunists who recognise his face. He'd be disappointed if it was his father, but hardly surprised. He snorts at how detached he is.

Instead he tries to work, conceals his location on his PHS and checks his email, but his hands are slow and clumsy and the words have far too many letters. The pain gnaws at him, unwelcome. It reminds him of Tseng's hands against his stomach, his grace as he murders a man in cold blood.

Rufus stills, as he feels a familiar warmth pooling between his thighs. _That's twisted_ , he thinks to himself, _even for you_. Still, it probably doesn't top the list.

Rufus leans into it, thinks of Tseng with blood on his cuffs, with his hair undone. He imagines Tseng angry, imagines his strong arms and hands and how it would feel to be trapped beneath them. Rufus slips a hand beneath his underwear, tries to avoid catching his dressings. It's hard to get purchase, but he makes it work, palms his cock slowly and feels a spark of pleasure-pain ricocheting through him as he catches his wound by mistake.

_Well,_ Rufus thinks. _That's a development._

It hurts to move. It _aches_ not to.

Rufus fucks his hand harder, moves his hips as best he can whilst thinking of Tseng above him, Tseng's boot at his throat. With his free hand, Rufus pushes fingers into his bandage, feels the white-hot pain soar through him and comes almost immediately.

At last, sleep. Tseng wakes him roughly at dawn.

'Your cover lasts until morning, sir. We need to move.'

It's hardly out of character for him to stay out all night, after all.

\--

Tonight, he drinks. It's been a week or so since his injury, and painkillers or not, Rufus is _not_ about to go another evening without decent scotch. He leans back on his sofa with a glass in hand, remembers how luxurious it is to be back in his suite. The apartment in Junon was meagre by comparison, but here he gets all the excess that the Shinra name affords him.

In the distance, embers still burn in the wreckage of Sector 8. Rufus feels white-hot rage at his father's incompetence, and at himself for lying here, so complacent and complicit. It's the kind of rage that'd make him throw something to see it break, if he was still eighteen or so. When you're nearing thirty, you swallow it down or fuck it out. Either way, your insides burn.

Rufus scowls, reaches for the bottle.

A knock at the door, three neat raps. Rufus recognises it as Tseng immediately, and saunters over to the door, scowls when he opens it to Tseng holding an intimidating stack of papers. 

‘Are you supposed to drink whilst taking painkillers?’ Tseng asks, by way of an entrance.

‘Delightful to see you too, Tseng,’ Rufus says drily. ‘And as you're not my physician, it's not your place to comment. This is alternative medicine.' 

‘I may not be a doctor,’ Tseng says, ‘but you were shot less than a week ago. Forgive me for being worried, sir.'

Tseng looks around the room, looks at the desk and the empty painkiller packets.

‘Have you been working?’

‘I am known to work on occasion,’ Rufus says, grinning. ‘Besides. Can’t let the bastards think there’s anything wrong.’

Tseng bows his head, does not let his exasperation show. 

‘I'm fairly sure you'd been advised to rest.’

‘Yes, well,’ Rufus says, finishes his drink. ‘It’s called keeping up appearances. Besides, I’ll hardly be any use to the Company if I’ve died of boredom.’

‘With all due respect sir, it's been six days.’

‘I require constant stimulation,’ Rufus counters, let his last word hang in the air. ‘It's my fatal flaw.’

‘No talk of fatality if I can help it, sir.’

‘That's my man,’ Rufus says, and Tseng stiffens. He much prefers Rufus sober. When Rufus drinks he's unpredictable, makes decisions Tseng bears the consequences for. Decisions often involving other men, decisions that leave a knot in Tseng's stomach, tight and wanting.

Rufus looks pensive, undoes the top buttons of his shirt. His hand is tight around his glass, lip bit deep in thought. Gentle sounds from the city fill the room, and Tseng stands at ease, recognises a look that is very _off-duty_. It's either resentment, or lust. The two look similar on him. 

Rufus turns to face Tseng, looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

‘How does it feel to kill a man?’

Tseng folds his arms. Already, _unpredictable._

‘You've killed plenty, sir. We both know that.’

‘Not like that, with a gun. So impersonal,’ Rufus says. He slumps forward, hair in his eyes, eyes aflame underneath. ‘With your hands.’

For a moment, Rufus almost reads concern on Tseng's implacable face. 

‘Is this about last week? I am sorry about it, compromising your safety like that.’

‘My safety,’ Rufus chuckles darkly, as if it were anything that simple. ‘It was simply interesting to watch.’

‘I’m sorry you had to see it.’

‘Don’t be,’ Rufus says, and smiles. Tseng senses a shift in Rufus’ voice that he chooses not to mention. 

Instead, Tseng walks to the desk and makes a show of organising papers.

‘Waste of a mission, really,’ Rufus says, paces lightly in front of the window. His eyes look Tseng up and down. ‘But I learnt a great deal.’

‘Learnt what, sir?’

‘How talented you are, of course,’ Rufus says, smiles at Tseng, shark-like.

‘Hardly talented, sir. Just well trained.’

‘You’re never usually this modest about your ability.’

‘I’m just stating the facts as they are,’ Tseng says, reaches for a pen and circles a figure on the page. ‘My job hardly permits margins of error.’

‘It wouldn’t kill you to accept the compliment.’

‘Then thank you, sir.’

Rufus scowls. Tseng is far too obtuse to play ball with.

‘I wonder if I’d be strong enough to do it,’ Rufus muses, makes a show of flexing his arms for a wholly unappreciative audience. ‘What’s your professional opinion?’

‘You’re perfectly capable of violence, sir,’ Tseng says drily. 'As are most people.'

‘Capable,’ Rufus replies, ‘not methodical. Not like you.’

‘It’s part of the job,’ Tseng says. ‘A means to an end.’

‘To what _end,_ I imagine?’ Rufus says, and Tseng doesn’t need to look up from his paperwork to know Rufus is smirking. He feels Rufus’ breath on the back of his neck, and shifts uncomfortably before Rufus presses against him. Tseng swats him away with a fatigued resignation.

‘You could teach me,’ Rufus says. ‘Consider it educational.’

‘I have enough to be getting on with,’ Tseng says, keeps his eyes fixed on the paper, bites his lip in concentration. ‘You’re a sharp shot, you have me on security detail. Nothing more is required.’

Rufus sits on the desk, not content with being ignored. Tseng sighs sharply, looks up to see his boss leaning over him, lips red and lascivious, hair irritatingly dishevelled.

‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,’ Rufus says. ‘I know what my Turks do for a living. I have the scars to prove it. I want a taste of it, from you. With your hands.’

He spreads his legs, slowly shifting the papers from the desk. Tseng swallows, adjusts his cufflinks. This isn't the first time Rufus has tried it with Tseng, but it's the first time he's been quite so persistent.

Rufus has been like this for years, flirtatious to a fault; as far as Tseng has known, it’s a way of getting results. He flirts at parties, board meetings; caresses with one hand and betrays Shinra’s corporate interests with the other. This is how Rufus operates. It’s what makes him so compelling as a potential figurehead, as a leader.

How curious it is then, that in this situation, Rufus does not want to take the lead.

Tseng lowers his head chastely. 

‘I’m busy, sir –‘

‘Tell me you don’t want it,’ Rufus smirks, moves a foot to Tseng’s groin. Tseng bites his tongue, does not, _will_ not allow himself to moan at the touch. He chooses a fixed point on the wall, stares sharply, does not respond to Rufus shunting forward and clumsily lowering himself into Tseng’s chair. 

‘I don’t hear you objecting.’

‘Sir – _Rufus,_ ’ Tseng corrects himself as Rufus rolls his eyes, ‘you know this is all kinds of unwise. You're injured, for starters, and I cannot protect you to the best of my ability if we break protocol like this –‘

‘Oh, _fuck_ protocol,’ Rufus says, breath hot against Tseng’s neck, hands tugging his tie. ‘You don’t want to shut me up? You don’t want to throttle me for being so irritating, for distracting you from your work?’

Tseng bites his lip, breathes shallowly through his nose as Rufus snakes a hand into his hair.

‘Your father would kill me.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Rufus says, with a smirk laced with venom. ‘I’m still top of his list.’

Tseng shifts uncomfortably, guilt briefly distracting him from the arousal of it all.

‘You’re thinking about me, aren’t you? It’d be so easy,’ Rufus whispers, kisses Tseng’s neck delicately. ‘For you to overpower me, take advantage of me. I’ll be ever so good.’

There’s something about Rufus debasing himself so willingly that Tseng finds frustratingly appealing, something undeniably hot about one of the most commanding men in the world begging to be pinned down and bruised. Tseng hisses as Rufus bites at his neck, feels himself hardening and using every ounce of restraint not to grind his hips back into Rufus.

‘Oh, _there_ we go,’ Rufus laughs, moves a hand to stroke Tseng through his trousers. ‘You’re not so subservient after all, huh? I knew your deference was only professional, not personal.’

Tseng’s eyes widen, forgets how Rufus reads people.

‘It is my _job_ –‘ Tseng stifles a moan, ‘to serve you.’

‘Exactly,’ Rufus hisses, begins to unbutton Tseng’s jacket. ‘So give me what I want.’

‘Are you always this much of a _brat_ –‘

Tseng grabs Rufus’ wrists to save the tailoring of his jacket. Rufus moans into his neck, falls loosely against Tseng as if his spine’s been pulled out of him. The impact is staggering.

‘Hurt me, Tseng,’ he whispers, and Tseng’s conflicted eyes turn dark. ‘Please.’

Consequences come as they may; he's waited long enough. For once in his life, Tseng’s desire outweighs his duty.

In one fluid gesture, Tseng lifts Rufus by the hips and splays his back against the desk, pinning him down with his body weight. He kisses Rufus fully, finally, feels Rufus moan into his mouth as Rufus tries to pull Tseng closer with his thighs, desperate and wanting.

‘Double tap my arm if it’s too much,’ Tseng instructs quietly, and Rufus nods fervently, squirming under Tseng like a cat in heat. Tseng stands up, casts his eyes leisurely over Rufus, and slowly, deliberately removes his gloves from his jacket pocket, flexing his fingers as he pulls them on.

‘Oh, fuck –‘

Tseng strikes Rufus across the face.

‘You don’t speak unless spoken to.’

Rufus positively clamps his lips together to keep from moaning. A red flush from the leather stains his cheek.

‘Good,’ Tseng says, feeling his voice lower, his posture heighten as it does in an interrogation. If Rufus wants him methodical, then methodical he shall get. He covers Rufus’ mouth with his gloved hand, feels Rufus trembling beneath him in arousal, or fear. Tseng doesn’t mind which. 

‘Are you particularly attached to this outfit?’ Tseng asks quietly out of character, and Rufus wants to laugh at how well Tseng knows him before Tseng commands harshness again. ‘Nod.’

Rufus nods no, eyes glinting with excitement.

Tseng rips the shirt apart, buttons springing from the seams. Rufus is red-faced and panting, panting as Tseng moves to similarly ruin his trousers and brushes against him, painfully hard.

‘Tseng – oh, fuck –‘

Tseng stops immediately, looks down at Rufus with a look of displeasure so chilling Rufus stills his breath.

‘You seem incapable of following even basic orders,’ Tseng sighs, looks on him with almost pity. ‘I’ve barely touched you, and this is how you react? How disappointing.’

Tseng traces a hand against the outline of Rufus’ cock, eliciting a moan so filthy that Tseng almost – almost – betrays his composure. He knows better though, treats this with the utmost professionalism, and instead removes his tie.

‘Open your mouth.’ 

Rufus’ eyes glint, the smirk on his face weighing up the benefits of refusing him. He pouts, wonders how far he can push Tseng before Tseng takes discipline into his own hands.

Tseng runs a leather-clad finger up Rufus’ torso, his neck, and stops to prop up Rufus’ chin.

‘I’m waiting.’

Rufus decides to push a little harder. He presses his lips together, smirking.

_Fine_ , thinks Tseng. 

Tseng moves with a cat-like grace, pounces onto the desk and straddles Rufus, hips rubbing against his straining cock as he grabs Rufus by the throat.

Rufus cries out, getting exactly what he’d hoped for. And of course, of _course_ Tseng knows how to make it hurt, knows the fine line between pain and bodily harm. He pushes his fingers tightly into the sides of Rufus’ throat, cannot help but smirk as Rufus’ eyes roll back and his breath staggers. 

‘I _said_ , open your mouth.’

Rufus pants, nods a silent assent as he opens his mouth. Tseng lets go of his throat, allows Rufus to catch his breath before deftly wrapping his tie twice round Rufus’ mouth, lips parted over black silk.

‘There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Rufus’ hair is slick with sweat, mouth swollen and clothes ruined beyond repair. A shame he’s so fucked so early in, as Tseng has no intention of stopping.

Tseng begins a downward descent of Rufus’ body, starting with sucking bruises into his neck. Tseng hums with amusement as Rufus shouts out at each one, his muffled cries going straight to Tseng’s own arousal. He follows with sucking bruises into his chest, his stomach, ever waiting for the double tap on his shoulder; but Rufus doesn’t quit, is as stubborn in receiving pleasure as he is in every other facet of his damn life.

Tseng is quietly impressed.

Finally - after what feels to Rufus like a _fucking age -_ Tseng reaches Rufus’ cock, and finally removes his trousers and underwear, wet with precum. Tseng smiles quietly to himself, pleased at his ability to ruin Rufus even whilst ignoring his lower half. He guides Rufus’ legs back onto the desk, to brace himself for what comes next.

Tseng deliberately strokes Rufus’ inner thighs, moves his mouth to lick a line up the shaft of Rufus’ cock, watches Rufus’ response. He is shaking again, hands grasping the desk to keep from touching himself, from shoving Tseng’s head down to take his cock. 

He looks so, so stunning. It takes all of Tseng’s restraint not to let Rufus fuck his mouth, to let him come over his neat, black suit. _But,_ Tseng reminds himself, _Rufus wants torture. The authentic Turk experience._ He steels himself to keep going.

‘Look at you,’ Tseng murmurs, as he takes Rufus’ cock into his hand, wonders how it feels against leather and heat. ‘You’re breaking already.’

Rufus grinds desperately into Tseng’s hand, tries to fuck himself on it. Tseng smiles and pulls his hand away, and Rufus whines, slams his fists desperately against the desk.

‘Patience is a virtue,’ Tseng says, reaches over the desk and pins Rufus’ hands down, ignoring Rufus’ muffled protests. Tseng stays there for a moment, takes in the sight of _the_ Rufus Shinra beneath him, naked and desperately hard. ‘Not a virtue you’re known for.’

Eventually, he removes Rufus’ wrists from his grasp, but before Rufus has time to pull Tseng closer, one hand is at his throat, the other working his cock.

Rufus positively squirms beneath him, bucking into the sensation of finally, finally being touched, while choked out by an expertly stern hand. His gag barely stifles the noises he makes, his moans rising higher and higher-pitched the more light-headed he gets.

Tseng loosens his grip, keeps his eyes on Rufus in concern as he traces a hand down Rufus’ body to his bandage. If he knows Rufus, this will undo him entirely, but it’s risky. Tseng places his hand over the bandage, presses into the skin below lightly, testing the waters.

Rufus nods with an enthusiasm so keen his head bangs against the table.

‘Remember your tap,’ Tseng instructs, as he pushes his fingers in against the wound, keeps his other hand working Rufus’ cock. Rufus positively sobs, thrashes his limbs against the desk, torn between writhing in pain and trying to push himself harder into Tseng’s gloved hand.

It’s pitiful, and beautiful, and Tseng pauses to admire him. Rufus won’t last, but then, neither will he.

Tseng loosens the gag, asks where Rufus keeps his condoms and lube for the many others who've been fucked on his desk.

‘Behind that cabinet – Tseng, fuck, –‘

Tseng slaps him again, harder this time. It doesn’t so much shut Rufus up as it makes him wail in anticipation. Tseng sighs, re-ties the gag, and goes to the cabinet, returning to Rufus at a glacial pace.

As much as Tseng enjoys the contrast between Rufus fully naked and himself fully clothed – sans tie, of course – it might make the next part somewhat difficult. Tseng finally begins to undress, removes his jacket and shirt with a practiced ease, and folds them neatly away on the chair. Rufus snorts at that. Typical Tseng behaviour, neat and genteel even in the midst of ruining someone. 

Tseng unbuckles his trousers, slips out of them and places his belt on the desk, an unhurried gesture that makes Rufus shiver. He’s naked now as well, aside from, quite conspicuously, one gloved hand. Every part of Tseng is engineered to kill, his suit masking strong arms and thighs and a large amount of scar tissue. With his suit on, Tseng can look serene, almost delicate. With it off, he is sheer terror.

Rufus has no more time to observe, however, as Tseng grabs him by the hips and rolls him over, stomach against the desk, ass exposed and spread wide. Rufus’ thighs tremble to hold himself up, especially as Tseng’s cold, slick finger enters him.

Rufus grinds his ass against Tseng’s hand, moaning as he adds another finger so easily. Tseng watches amused, content to let Rufus fuck himself; as he does, Tseng hits Rufus’ ass with his gloved hand.

The reaction is instantaneous, Rufus positively sobbing. Tseng adds another finger, hits Rufus harder and harder the more desperate his thrusts become. Tseng can hear words, muffled by the gag, and as much as he doesn’t want to wake up the entirety of the sixty-ninth floor, he’s keen to hear Rufus at his most debauched.

Tseng rolls a condom on, lines himself up against Rufus’ entrance, teasing him with the tip of his cock. It’s now that he unties Rufus’ gag, threads a delicate hand in his hair.

‘You want me to fuck you?’ Tseng murmurs. ‘Beg for it.’

It comes out as a torrent, the dam breaking.

‘Tseng, Tseng, please, gods I can’t take it – please, please fuck me, sir, I-‘

Tseng is momentarily taken aback.

‘Sir?’

Rufus wriggles as best he can to face Tseng.

‘Shit. Are you not into that?’

‘Uh –‘ Tseng says, and for a moment the façade is gone, and he is acutely aware of the fact that he is _fucking_ his _superior_. ‘No, I’m – I’m very into that. I just, um, may have to start exclusively referring to you as Mister Vice President, or –‘

‘Then _please_!’ Rufus moans, hams it up for all he’s worth. ‘Fuck me, sir!’

Tseng thrusts his cock inside Rufus, and Rufus sobs, wails like a man half-drowned. Rufus is tight and hot around him, and desperate and begging – _please, sir, touch me, yes_ – and Tseng acquiesces, palms Rufus’ cock with his gloved hand as he fucks Rufus harder into the desk. 

It doesn’t take long for Rufus to come; he’s endured so much already. He spills into Tseng’s hand with a guttural cry, convulsing from the aftershocks of denial for so, so long. Tseng isn’t far behind him, his resolve paper-thin as he moans, finally gives away just how much he wants Rufus, how much he has always wanted Rufus. 

‘Tseng,' Rufus pleads, and Tseng needs no invitation. He comes inside Rufus with a sharp cry, buried to the hilt as he holds Rufus’ hips tight to his. Tseng catches his breath, and pulls out; allows Rufus a moment to catch his breath as he ties the condom.

Tseng exhales slowly, hair mussed and cheeks flushed. He moves to take off his glove, but Rufus stops him, holds Tseng's gloved hand to his mouth to lick the cum from Tseng’s fingers.

Rufus laughs as he does so, looks directly at Tseng as he licks them clean. He looks filthy and humble all at once, and it sends lightning down Tseng's spine.

‘You did well,’ Tseng whispers, stiffly kisses Rufus on the forehead as he perches next to Rufus on the desk. ‘That was very challenging.’

For a moment, there is silence. Rufus falls into Tseng's lap, hair mussed and breath ragged. 

‘So,’ Tseng says stiffly, folds his hands politely. ‘How was that for you?’

Rufus laughs so hard he doubles up, and Tseng smiles gently back at him.

‘Like you need to ask.’

‘Are you okay?’ Tseng asks, looking up and down at the devastation he’s caused. Rufus’ face is red, his neck is swollen, purple mouth-shaped bruises littering his body from neck to thigh. Tseng removes the glove, checks his bandage for any unexpected blood.

‘I’m fine,’ Rufus says, a wan smile on his face. ‘I’m fucking _fantastic._ ’

‘We should get you some place more comfortable,’ Tseng says, rubs Rufus’ back for knots. ‘I can’t imagine that desk does your back any good.’

‘Listen to you,’ Rufus says. ‘Even after fucking the life out of me, you can’t help but fuss.’

‘Don’t complain,’ Tseng says, places a hand round Rufus’ waist to guide him to the bathroom. ‘You’ll thank me at whatever time you deign to wake up tomorrow.’

Rufus raises his hands in mock-surrender, allows Tseng to move his body in the right ways.

They fall so quickly back into their normal pattern that it’s almost comical. Tseng runs Rufus a warm bath and waits outside patiently, redresses and checks his email, tidies the papers and fabric from the floor. He sets a glass of water down on the bedside table, and does not muss the sheets, no matter how inviting they look.

Tseng can hear Rufus humming from the bathroom, and feels something unnameable in his stomach. He briefly closes his eyes, hears the echo of Rufus’ voice and the clanking train from the undercity below. 

It’s time for him to go. The sentimentality doesn’t sit easy on him.

Tseng leaves a neat pile of papers on the desk, and a bag with the clothes for Rufus to deal with as he sees fit. He reaches for a pen, plans to write a _this is not the clean-up you pay me for_ note as a goodbye.

There is a click from the bathroom door.

‘What are you doing?’ Rufus says. 

‘Leaving,’ Tseng says plainly, as if it were obvious.

‘Well, that’s fucking charming.’ Rufus pouts. ‘Is that how you treat all your lovers?’

Tseng bows his head delicately, too proud to say his job affords him little time for romance.

‘Come here,’ Rufus says, once again demanding and superior. ‘You’re staying the night.’

Tseng walks to the bed and hovers over it, his expression unfathomable.

‘As in, you’re staying the night with me, in my bed,’ Rufus says. ‘Or do you need the protocol for that, too?’

Tseng hesitates. For him, intimacy is more unthinkable than causing pain.

Rufus sighs, reaches for Tseng’s hand.

‘You must know I’ve wanted this,’ Rufus says plainly. ‘I’m never particularly subtle about these things.’

'Yes, sir,' he says, fiddles with his sleeves. 

'Then come and embrace me,' Rufus says. 'I could force you, you know.'

Tseng smiles quietly.

'I'm sure you could try.'

He acquiesces, slowly removing his clothes. Rufus drapes his arms around Tseng's shoulders, even as he feels them stiffen. 

'You were exceptional, Tseng,' he says, and Tseng looks down, can take praise about work but not about this. 'Nobody else would take me apart so thoroughly.'

‘I'm pleased you enjoyed it,’ says Tseng, pulls his hair from its tie, which Rufus immediately nestles in, like a magpie drawn to a shiny object.

‘You’d be surprised how rare it is,’ Rufus says. 'Even when I ask people to fuck me up good and proper, people are still afraid to lay hands on me.'

‘You’re a powerful man,’ Tseng says gently. ‘And with your – _tastes_ – I can’t imagine anybody wants to be responsible for hurting you.’

‘Well, yes, I’m aware,’ Rufus laughs. ‘It’s just refreshing to not be treated with kid gloves.'

There’s a silence, as Rufus plays with Tseng's hair and Tseng sits quietly, looks at a spot on the wall as he does when emotions threaten to betray his features.

‘Thank you,’ Rufus says. ‘It means more than you know. To have somebody I trust so implicitly.'

Tseng nods.

'I'm pleased this wasn't your idea of a test of loyalty.'

Tseng is attempting humour, but Rufus looks at Tseng with a seriousness that's been absent all evening.

‘Your loyalty was never in question, Tseng,’ he says plainly. ‘You've always been mine.’

Rufus kisses him then, with a tenderness that doesn't suit his features. Tseng leans into it clumsily, has broken far too many rules already this evening to object. 

**Author's Note:**

> playing a little fast and loose with canon, but in my head this takes place around the start of FFVII, if rufus was allowed back to midgar in the days before his father's death 
> 
> canon aside, this was such a lot of fun to write!! i adore all the turks, they all live in my head rent-free but these two in particular get me in my feelings. really hope i get a chance to write them again!!


End file.
